


Hot Chocolate

by DarkMoonMaiden



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, Dissociation, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Peter Needs a Hug, and Wade is happy to give him one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 08:35:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1892367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkMoonMaiden/pseuds/DarkMoonMaiden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The whole room tilted and nothing felt real, like Peter wasn't actually there, but was an observer. Like he was watching it all on a television.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot Chocolate

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> Sorry if there's any errors...It's midnight and I'm kinda drunk. I'll go back tomorrow and edit if there are any big, glaring errors.

The silence unnerved Peter. He'd lived his whole life with the loud city around him, filled with yelling drunkards, cars rushing by with loud music flowing through the open windows, neighbors shouting at each other with their TVs on too loud, the subway rumbling beneath the building.

This house, with its silence and its darkness, set Peter's teeth on edge. The lack of police sirens and lights from other buildings streaming into his room made the place feel foreign, almost alien.

The mission had gone on longer than expected, and ended with the jet in pieces. Instead of sending out a new one, Wade, Peter and the others on their team were forced to spend the night at a nearby SHIELD safe house. It was a nice place, in a quiet, suburban neighborhood, fully furnished and styled like a regular home for a proper family. There were fake pictures of relatives and friends on the walls that unnerved Peter, and rooms set up for children that set his teeth on edge. They made him feel as if he was trespassing. Didn’t belong. Maybe not even really there.

Staring at the dark ceiling of the bedroom--barely making anything out, even with his enhanced vision--Peter felt his lungs clench painfully, restricting his breathing. If he hadn't just gotten the A-Okay from Bruce an hour earlier, he would've been afraid that some of his ribs were broken and he was in actual danger. He tried to push back against the overbearing silence, trying to focus on the app he had running on his phone that was playing a looped recording of a busy street. It just didn't have close to the same feel--no, he couldn't pick out the voice of Jeffrey, the homeless man across the street, or Linda, the Chinese woman who would stay up all night and sing traditional songs.

Everything was _wrong._ And the wrong was seeping into Peter, making the tips of his fingers numb and his legs and his chest nonexistent. The whole room looked like it was something out of a movie, even though he knew that it was the same room he'd first lain down in.

Holding his breath, Peter forced himself up and put his imaginary legs on the floor, stumbling out of bed. He leaned against the wall as he made his way to the room on the other side of the hall. He nearly knocked over a picture frame, but managed to steady it with hands that didn’t feel like his before reaching his destination.

Wade was already sitting up in his bed, eyes alert and a gun in hand. He’d no doubt heard Peter as soon as he had left his room, the mercenary’s instincts telling him to be prepared for anything. When he saw his boyfriend stumble in, breathing hitching and eyes wide, his muscles relaxed and he let go of his gun.

“Peter?” he asked, breaking the silence. “What’s wrong?”

“I just…” Peter searched for words in his muddled brain, throat constricting and his voice sounding muffled in his ears. “Don’t feel...right.”

Wade’s gaze softened in immediate understanding. It wasn’t the first time Peter had come to him like this, and the mercenary understood the feeling on a personal level--dying on a regular basis often made him feel like a stranger in his own body.

He pulled back the blankets, and Peter somehow made it there to curl under the covers. Wade’s hand carding through his hair felt strange, but it wasn’t terrible. Peter shivered, rubbing his arm nervously.

“Are you fine to be on your own for a few minutes?” Wade asked, his scarred lips coming down to kiss Peter’s temple. The superhero nodded, watching Wade stand up and leave the bedroom. He could vaguely hear sounds coming from the kitchen, but it was hard to concentrate on anything when nothing seemed real.

Wade hummed under his breath as he tried to quietly make hot chocolate, cringing when the small pot clattered on to the stovetop and the gas made an annoyingly loud clicking sound before a small flame popped up. God, it was nerve-wrecking cooking in a house with three other superheroes/agents (not including himself and Peter, of course) in the vicinity. He was waiting for Black Widow to come rolling out of the shadows to incapacitate him.

Bruce came stumbling in, hair mussed and wearing his sleep clothes. He squinted through his skewed glasses at the scarred mercenary absently stirring milk at the stove, humming tunelessly and only wearing boxers.

“Wilson?” he asked sleepily, gaze moving to the side to avoid seeing more of a practically nude Wade. “What are you doing?”

Wade turned and gave him a sheepish grin, unashamed (or perhaps unaware...Bruce could name a couple of times the mercenary had simply forgotten to put on pants) of his nakedness. “Sorry, did I wake you up?” he asked. “I’m trying to be quiet.”

“My room’s next to the kitchen,” Bruce shrugged. “You didn’t answer the question, though.”

“Right.” Wade looked at the milk he was stirring. “Petey isn’t feeling so hot, so I’m making us some hot chocolate.”

Bruce’s brow furrowed. “Is it his ribs?” he asked. He knew that they’d been bothering the younger superhero earlier in the evening...

“Nah, nah, it’s more…” Wade waved a vague hand around his head. “In his head. Y’know. Icky stuff.”

Bruce didn’t need further explanation as he watched Wade continue to putter around the kitchen. As Peter’s doctor, Bruce was aware of the bouts of “icky stuff” Peter felt, having had to talk Peter through what it actually was when the teenager first approached him.

He made a mental note to talk more to Peter about getting medication or perhaps talking to a counselor before saying, “Well, if you guys need anything, I’m here.”

Wade nodded, focused on pouring the milk into two cups, and Bruce went back to his room.

When Wade returned to Peter, he had two mugs in his hands and wore a wide grin. “It’s hot chocolate,” he said cheerily. “Hot cocoa can fix anything--well, not really. It’s useless with broken bones and blood loss. And bruises. And decapitation. Whatever. Just drink it.”

Peter managed a weak chuckle at his boyfriend’s rambling as he accepted the mug. The heat coming from the mug was comforting; something tangible that made his hands feel a bit more real. Peter felt it slide down his throat and warm his stomach, adding a touch of realism to his being. He took a calming breath, the shaking in his hands stopping as he focused on the warmth of the mug and the heat that his boyfriend was exuding when he draped himself around him.

“Hawkeye’s not gonna be happy if he sees us in bed together,” Wade commented. “He’ll probably make Cap give us another lecture on not having sex on missions.” Peter snorted, shaking his head as he took a large gulp of his drink.

Wade waited with a surprising amount of patience for Peter to finish his drink before he set their empty mugs on the bedside table and dragged his partner into a laying position. He flicked off the light on the bedside table before throwing himself practically on top of Peter, snuggling up close to him.

“Need anything else?” Wade asked after pressing a kiss to Peter’s cheek.

Peter hesitated. “Could you talk for awhile?” he mumbled meekly.

Wade gaped at him. “Oh my god. Someone’s actually _wanting_ me to talk? _Asking_ me to _?_ Oh honey, you really must be messed up right now.” Peter pushed him playfully, happy to note that his hands actually felt like his own again.

Wade relaxed again, and started toying with a stray string on Peter’s sweater while he chattered on, keeping his voice low enough that he wouldn’t bother the other agents in the house. He didn’t bother staying on one topic or properly stringing sentences together, knowing that Peter wasn’t focusing on the words.

Peter closed his eyes, arms winding around Wade’s neck as he fell into a doze, the unease slowly seeping from his body to be replaced by a more comfortable, real feeling.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Comments/kudos very much appreciated!
> 
> If you have any questions or something for me to write, send me an ask: darkmoonmaiden.tumblr.com


End file.
